


Watching You

by jojothecr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Written in 2008, teen!chesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The first hunt in Dean's life has changed him. And Sam isn't blind...</em><br/>Dean: 16, Sam: 12</p><p>Warning: My second SPN fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching You

Groaning sleepily, Dean shifts in the bed, causing it to squeal quietly under his weight. The sheets rustle softly as it slip from his shoulder, exposing his bare skin to the chilly air coming through the chinks in the window. He rests onto his side; the light of the streetlamp forces its way behind his eyelids, making his eyelashes flutter. He's drawn from the sleep with an elusive feeling that something isn't quite the way it should be. A feeling that makes him hold his breath, listening to the dead silence of their room and the lazy, sleepy murmur of the city behind the hotel door. His hand sneaks beneath the crumpled pillow under his head even before he thinks about moving and his fingers close around the cold metal of his gun. There's nothing supernatural in the darkness around him, he's sure of that, but something odd is and he knows it doesn't need to be big to cause big troubles. Opening his eyes at last, Dean rolls onto his back and then jerks, jaw stopping in the middle of a yawn. There's a shadow falling onto the wall beside him and a silent, motionless figure sitting at the edge of his bed. Dean reaches out to the nightstand automatically; hand searching blindly for the switch of the lamp, eyes frantically roaming the edges of the silouethe. Lights of a passing car move along the room then, illuminating the closed door and the old painting on the opposite wall, making the shadows of Sam's books and toys, sitting on the shelf, sail alongside the walls. Finally the light reaches Dean's bed and puts a face to the spook that has stopped the stream of his unstopping nightmares. The face of his twelve years old brother. Dean lets out a heavy breath he didn't realize he's been holding and wipes the sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand. He sits up and leans his back against the metallic headboard. Shaking his head amusedly at his own unreasonable fright, he turns the lights on eventually.

"What are you doing, Sammy?" He asks; sleep and tiredness mirroring in the roughness of his voice. He tugs the gun safely behind his back and under the pillow.

Sam shrugs like if sitting awake at God-knows-what time in the night and scaring the crap out of his big brother was as natural as the light of the moon falling onto the lake over the street. Dean fights back another yawn and sighs heavily. He hasn't slept well for the last six nights and something tells him this night won't be any exception.

"I'm watching you," Sam says simply.

Dean stops in the mid of scratching his eyebrow and opens his eyes wider with surprise. "Why are you watching me?"

Sam curls his legs under himself to keep his bare feet warm and folds his arms across his chest. "To know it's really you."

Dean's faked smile freezes on his lips and he frowns. "What?" He questions, getting onto his knees to wrap the blanket around Sam. He stares into Sam's wide and obviously tired eyes, knowing he should tell him to go back sleep and promise to talk about it in the morning, but it's the very look in them that tells him this will not wait, because it was already strong enough to awake the both of them.  
Dean pulls back, avoiding Sam's eyes that suddenly seem to see more than they should. Seem to be able to look into Dean's own and read the truth he's desperately trying to hide.

"Of course it's me," he replies as calmly as he can manage. "Who else would be that?"

Sam tilts his head, studying Dean's face intently in the dim light like if he's never seen it before. Like if he were connecting the freckles on Dean's cheeks and nose to agelong constellations with his eyes.  
Despite the fact he's used to this kind of stare, this time it makes Dean nervous and he scratches unwittingly at the deep and suddenly unbearable healing wound that spreads over seven inches, from his thigh down his knee. He realizes his wrong step as soon as he feels the first warm droplets of blood soaking through the thin cotton of his sweatpants. He's lucky that the dark color of the fabric makes the red invisible even in the honey colored light of the lamp. Sam doesn't know about the injury and he doesn't need to know. He still naively believes that Dean is invulnerable, and who's Dean to ruin this conviction of his?

"I don't know," Sam admits; voice really unsure, gaze still threatening to burn holes through Dean's skin. "It looks like you. It acts like you, but you..."

Sam's voice forces Dean look at his brother and he notices how small he looks suddenly. His eyes are soft and confused, maybe even a little scared. He looks at his hands curling nervously in his lap, then back to Dean.

"... You feel differently, Dean."

Sam's words make Dean even more confused. Make him feel guilty for the things he's seen and needs to hide, for pushing Sam away recently. For shutting him out.

"You don't laugh anymore," Sam continues. "You haven't smiled for a week. Not since the..." Sam pauses and Dean can clearly see as he's remembering the night, when Dean returned from the hunt with dad. "...that night."

 _The very first hunt in Dean's life.  
He had heard stories about the monsters waiting in the dark before, heard from dad and Bobby. Had read many stories and guides how to handle each one of them. But being a part of it, feeling the freshness of the forest, the nightly dew soaking his clothes, the heavy smell of his own fear and the reality when he stood face to face with the thing, was nothing he could have been prepared for. He didn't hesitate, his fingers worked as on autopilot, aiming, sending the evil back to Hell where it belonged, but something inside him changed, died that night along with the beast._

He's been naive thinking Sam wouldn't noticed.

Dean wants to say it's gonna be okay. Wants to lie, even when Sam already knows about the supernatural for a few years. Wants to pretend, just for a while, that what he's seen, what he killed, was just a nightmare. He wants that so much that he's surprised when he opens his mouth and hears himself saying exactly that.

"I'm okay, Sammy." He's trying to assure Sam, assure himself, but his smile is barely there. "And this is still my old, bad me." His joke is flat, sounds stupid even to his own ears, but his plastered grin seems to be working on Sam. "I'll be okay."

"Really?" Sam asks suspiciously.

"Yes," Dean nods. "Really."

"You promise?"

Dean nods again, thankful that Sam doesn't push further, rarely doesn't ask more questions he's usually full of. But maybe he's just too tired and will come with more questions in the morning. "I promise."

"Okay," Sam smiles softly, obviously relaxing a bit. He turns his head to look to the other side of the room, where his unmade bed is waiting. The sanitary white sheets look cold even to Dean, when he follows Sam's unsure gaze.

"You wanna sleep with me tonight?" He asks, already reading his answer of Sam's lit up face.

"Can I?" Sam asks cheerfully, even though a little uncertainly. They haven't slept curled into each other for a few months.

"Yeah, but just for tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Sam smiles finally; all dimples and sparkling eyes.  
He grabs the edges of the blanket and spreads his arms wide, so he looks like a giant, tousled sparrow and then falls forward onto the bed, right beside Dean.  
Dean can't help, but smiles, shifting to the edge of the bed to give Sam and him more space.

It's been a while they slept in one bed, under one blanket and Dean realizes that despite the fact this is the most familiar gesture, because Sam has always been curling up to Dean when he was scared of the world around, especially when dad was gone, suddenly it feels strange. He knows exactly how long it is and why. Sam might be the smarter one, but is still a kid and Dean feels how visible the age difference between them is now. Some things Sam just doesn't understand and some of them are difficult to explain. Some of them cannot be explained to Sam at all. Not yet.  
Dean's body shivers when he remembers, the memory coming back nearly as vivid as the moment when it happened.

 _She was nearly fifteen, Dean was fifteen and ten months. Her lips tasted like a strawberry and her long, blond hair slipped through his fingers like water, smooth and smelling of peaches. She bit on his shoulder when he sunk into her, drowning in the feelings that have overflown him. His skin was burning, every cell in his body exploding like fireworks. The last remains of his childhood were taken away with the flow of their passion. He fell into an entirely new world and... in love. The next morning dad ordered to pack their things and Dean never got a chance to say more than, 'Goodbye', that he'd written on a piece of paper from Sam's notepad and stuck under the flowerpot at the front step of her house. God knows if the wind, that was extremely strong at that time, didn't take it away just like Dean from her life._

So yeah, Dean has changed and not only from the hunt.

Sam shifts closer to Dean, breaking the distance Dean has put between them and ducks his head under Dean's chin. He lets out a heavy sigh against his collarbone and places a small warm hand on his stomach.

"G'night, Dean," he mumbles, already falling asleep.

Dean's fingers stroke Sam's soft hair, sweeping it off his forehead. "Good night, Sammy."

He turns off the light and looks up to the ceiling, where the streetlight reflects the pattern of the faded curtain. Dean gives a slight sigh and then spends probably ten minutes waggling, trying to find the most comfortable position. Sam blindly follows and copies every movement of the warm, firm body beneath him, until the exhaustion takes over finally and Dean closes his eyes, seeing no monsters and no blood in his dreams, after a very long time.


End file.
